


your first time out of the country of your own skin

by mygalfriday (BrinneyFriday)



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-19
Updated: 2013-08-19
Packaged: 2017-12-24 00:40:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 861
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/933084
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BrinneyFriday/pseuds/mygalfriday
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Doctor has just regenerated. River is unhelpful.</p>
            </blockquote>





	your first time out of the country of your own skin

**Author's Note:**

> Story title from the poem Traveler by Heather Sommer.

“Ah yes, it’s definitely got to be this one.”

 

Elbow on the table and chin resting in her open palm, River watches wearily as the Doctor flits around the TARDIS kitchen, confident that eggs with ketchup are this body’s new fish fingers and custard. He’s already attempted pumpkin pie, green beans and green tea, pasta with syrup instead of marinara sauce, and apples – still no. So far, nothing has satisfied his new palate and this time there is no little Scottish girl to help him along. Only River, and she’s afraid she isn’t quite adequate.

 

He turns on his heel to look at her without the dramatic flair of his last body, which seems to throw him off balance. He frowns at his arms for a moment, as if he can’t begin to understand why they aren’t flailing about before he glances up again and finds her smirking at him. “You know, don’t you?”

 

River holds up her hands. “I didn’t say anything.”

 

“You don’t have to – I’m your husband and I know you. It’s written all over your insufferably smug face.”

 

Still smirking, she says nothing.

 

With a growl, the Doctor turns from her and begins cracking eggs over a pan with ten times the grace his last body had. “That’s why you didn’t look surprised when I regenerated – you’ve already seen this body. And you already know my favorite food. Do I ever know something before you do?”

 

He isn’t looking at her so River allows a fond smile directed at the back of his gray head, barely hours old. As soon as he’d appeared in a blaze of golden light, she’d hardly been able to suppress her beaming grin because she _knew_ him. He has so much still to come with this face and he’ll have a hell of a time trying to win over her younger, more wary self.

 

“You’re not even listening to me, are you?”

 

“Hm?” She blinks away fond memories. “Sorry, my love. I was appreciating you from the back.”

 

Instead of blushing, he snorts. “Like you haven’t already.”

 

“Spoilers.”

 

“Yes, fine. Keep your secrets.” He glares at his eggs and then at her. “But at least tell me what I like to eat! And none of that ‘it has to be lived’ bollocks.” He looks startled at his own words. “Oh, did you hear that?”

 

She raises an eyebrow, secretly pleased. This version of her husband has the most delicious vocabulary that he puts to use in the most delightful places.

 

“I curse now.” He groans and sinks into the seat across from her at the table, his head in his hands. “I’m a foul-mouthed old man.”

 

River sighs and gets to her feet, pausing to press a kiss to the top of his head – receiving only a grunt in reply – before walking to the stove and taking the pan of eggs off the heat. “At least you look your age now.”

 

He raises his head from his hands and stares at her balefully. She hides a smile, walking slowly toward him and silently admiring the older, lithe frame of her Doctor. He’s still wearing the bowtie and as she settles herself onto his lap, she presses her fingertips to the fabric fondly. His arms wrap around her instantly, drawing her near, and she glances up into blue eyes that still look at her with that mix of ancient love, awe and devotion that never fails to make her stomach flutter. That look is the only thing that truly matters to her.

 

“You don’t miss the baby face?” He pats his own cheek thoughtfully. “I think I miss it. River, I feel _old_.”

 

She laughs softly, swatting away the hand prodding at his face to lean in and press her lips to the lines around his eyes that will wrinkle when he laughs and tighten in anxiety and rage whenever she puts herself in danger for his sake. “Lucky you married an archeologist. I like old things.”

 

He harrumphs.

 

“Oh, stop it. You look fifty at best, you vain old man.”

 

“You are wonderful for my ego, darling.” His hands wind into her hair – smaller palms, but the fingers are still long and slender – and he buries his face in her curls, inhaling greedily. “Oh, thank god.”

 

“What?”

 

“You still smell the same,” he says softly, breathing her in again. “I was afraid you wouldn’t. New nose, you see.”

 

“New everything,” she purrs, still toying with his bowtie.

 

His grin against the shell of her ear is smug. “Still insatiable for me?”

 

“Of course I am,” she says, and starts kissing her way across his jaw – less prominent but just as responsive to her touch. “I love you. Every you.”

 

“Are you prepared to prove that, Professor?” He rumbles against her cheek.

 

She threads her fingers through silver hair. “I thought you were hungry.”

 

“Oh, I am.”

 

She snorts. “I forgot how shameless you are in this body.”

 

“Ah, so you _did_ know.”

 

“Oh shut up and fetch the whipped cream.”

 

He pulls away from her hair, childish delight strangely charming on such a mature face. “Yes! Whipped cream, that’s definitely the one.”


End file.
